


The Magnolia tree

by Gladia_Delmarre



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), M/M, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:35:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27594908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gladia_Delmarre/pseuds/Gladia_Delmarre
Summary: "What were you thinking...  planting a tree just today under a flood?" he said, smiling."I wanted you to see him when you came back." Crowley plunged deeper into the tub, pulling his hair back in and letting them float like red ribbons behind his back.“A magnolia huh. Why?".Crowley muttered something in a very low voice."I don't hear you, my dear." Aziraphale was starting to undress, and his pale white-pink skin glowed, almost translucent in the steamy air of the bathroom."Like your skin" Crowley replied, now with only his eyes out of the water.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 47





	The Magnolia tree

Early May in the South Downs never looked so good.  
After a series of sunny days, the fields around the cottage started to be covered with the pale blue of the bird’s eyes speedwell and the thistles purplish pink.

Crowley handled the cottage garden in an almost maniacal way. Violets of various colors were confined to neat, small patches, as well as the large dark red Gardi peonies mixed with white Avalanches shrubs. The corner with the medicinal plants near the kitchen door was meticulously neat, and two large lavender bushes framed the entrance to the garden in an almost perfect symmetrical way. Only the bluebells allowed themselves to sprout a bit randomly, close to the surrounding wall. Crowley always pretended not to see them.

What was missing now was a magnolia tree.  
Crowley had chosen it carefully from a nursery several miles away and decided to plant it where Aziraphale, when he would wake up facing the window, would see it as the first thing in the morning.

Of course, Aziraphale wasn't there, in those days.  
He was in London checking out his library. He went there about once a month: since he didn't have enough room for all his books in the cottage, the ones he couldn't bring he decided that had to be visited. Crowley snorted at this. Sentimental fool. He obviously went every week to check his plants in Mayfair, but the plants were alive and needed strict discipline, especially now that he wasn't always there to order them how they must grow.

Crowley shrugged. The work had to be done quickly: he wanted this to be a surprise and Aziraphale would be back the next day at the latest. He put on old clothes because he wanted to dig the hole by hand to plant the magnolia. Since the "not-apocalypse" he had almost stopped using his powers, as Aziraphale did. Apart from rare cases, neither of them really felt the need, and they had adapted to live like a normal human couple.

The garden in the back of the cottage was an enchanted place, even for Crowley who took care of it. Aziraphale adored it. And he… well he adored Aziraphale.  
He went down barefoot because he loved feeling the fresh grass under the plants, between his fingers. He took an old shovel and started working in the chosen corner.

He carefully delineated the perimeter of the hole and calculated the depth and size from the pot which, for now, still contained the young tree. After an hour of work, he realized he was further behind than he had hoped for. It hadn't rained for a few days and the ground was harder than usual.  
But Crowley was a stubborn demon and went on regardless of the gray clouds which apparently had decided to arrive a few days late.

The first raindrops were ignored.

There were rarely any real thunderstorms in the area, and the rain often resembled a kind of very dense and very very wet mist.

Crowley continued digging, careless.  
What had been sparse gray clouds had become a heavy dark blanket, and the rain looked anything but light. In a few minutes, he was totally soaked, while the soil began to absorb water and softened.

I'll work faster in this way.

Actually, the hole began to get bigger, but it was also filled with mud.  
Crowley could no longer see the bottom, but he calculated that it must be more or less the right depth after another hour of work. With a little effort, he pulled out the tree from the pot by taking it from the base of the log. It was heavy, with the roots holding the wet soil. He dropped it into the hole, and the mud at the bottom splashed out, staining his pants almost to his knees. Now he just had to fill in the empty spaces with leftover dirt.

He knelt on the ground and started to work directly with his hands.  
Aziraphale's magnolia had to be perfectly straight and he wanted to make sure it was positioned in the best way. The muddy dirt was pushed with the fingers into the empty spaces around the roots. They would soon spread out into the garden and make the magnolia grow healthy and solid for years.

Aziraphale found him still tapping lightly with his palms to smooth everything out to perfection.

“Crowley! What are you doing in the rain, damn it! " he yelled at him from the door.  
The demon turned guilty, like a child caught in the act.  
"Come here!" he said again. Crowley walked over, dripping water and mud on the wooden patio.  
"You are soaked ... my dear boy... what did you do?"  
"I wanted to plant a tree," he replied, rubbing his feet on the patio.  
"… today?" Aziraphale pulled him inside, heedless of the mud pounding on the parquet. He would think about it later.  
"It was a surprise" was the soft reply.

Aziraphale finally looked up and noticed the magnolia. A little gloomy, with the rich flowers, weighed down by the rain, it did not make an excellent figure, but in any case it would become splendid and majestic with the care of the right gardener. No gardener was better than Crowley. Aziraphale hugged him, pulled him up in her arms - despite his protests - and carried him into the bathroom.

"For once I'd say I don't care about acting like a human" he said, snapping his fingers, and the sumptuous clawfoot bathtub filled with hot water and scented foam.

Crowley was sure he also saw a rubber duck or two peeking through the mountains of foam.  
Aziraphale took off his soaked clothes unceremoniously, fighting with his pants. They were so tight and so wet it seemed almost impossible to take off them without tearing up a couple of skin layers. Then Aziraphale pushed him into the tub. The water rose to the edge as Crowley relaxed the contracted muscles, sighing.

Aziraphale knelt beside him, untying the braid Crowley made to pull back his hair, once again long.  
"What were you thinking... planting a tree just today under a flood?" he said, smiling.  
"I wanted you to see him when you came back." Crowley plunged deeper into the tub, pulling his hair back in and letting them float like red ribbons behind his back.  
“A magnolia huh. Why?".  
Crowley muttered something in a very low voice.  
"I don't hear you, my dear." Aziraphale was starting to undress, and his pale white-pink skin glowed, almost translucent in the steamy air of the bathroom.

"Like your skin" Crowley replied, now with only his eyes out of the water.

Aziraphale froze for a moment as his cheeks turned a light vermilion.  
He too slipped into the tub, hastily, trying to hide his embarrassment. The water and foam poured copiously out of the tub, flooding the floor.

Aziraphale knew that Crowley appreciated him, but he was of few words… and this idea was sweet and delicate at the same time.

With his hands, he reached for one of the demon's feet and pulled it up, while Crowley's back rested on the opposite side of the tub. He took a bar of soap and began to rub under the nails, despite Crowley’s vibrating protests, who, fidgeting, slipped the long auburn locks out of the tub.  
"You have the soul of a poet, dearest" he told him "But you are covered by mud".


End file.
